Brazil

Crime of passion

Murder most foul in São Paulo

WHATEVER the truth behind the murder of Ubiratan Guimarães in São Paulo last weekend, odds are it was a crime of passion. Colonel Ubiratan, who in 1992 put down a rebellion in São Paulo's Carandiru prison so savagely that 111 prisoners died, was a target of frequent death threats and never went out unarmed. Police believe his murder to be more likely the result of a lover's quarrel than delayed revenge. Nonetheless it has caused a bubbling debate over the rights of offenders vis-à-vis ordinary citizens to boil over.

In 2001 a judge sentenced Colonel Ubiratan to 632 years in prison for his role in the Carandiru bloodbath. But to many in São Paulo he was more hero than villain. The gregarious law-enforcer ran several times for the state legislature, choosing 111 as part of the code for supporters to punch into voting machines. Enough enjoyed the joke to elect him in 2002. A court overturned his conviction this year, saying that the judge had misinterpreted the jury's verdict (which several jurors denied). He was in the midst of a promising campaign for a second term when he was killed in his flat by a single shot to the abdomen. His girlfriend was questioned by the police.

If he had been shot gangland style—in the head—and his own revolver had not disappeared, suspicion might have fallen on the Primeiro Comando da Capital (PCC), a prison-based gang in São Paulo. It has a history of murdering law-enforcers in defence of its prison privileges, which include unfettered access to lawyers and mobile phones, used to transmit orders to operatives in the field. Last October, the director of Carandiru prison at the time of the 1992 massacre was murdered, allegedly by the PCC. In May the gang turned its fury on the entire state, particularly the capital. In one week it murdered some 40 policemen and burnt 80 buses, paralysing public transport. The police responded by killing more than 100 “suspects”. And the tit-for-tat violence continues.

Candidates in next month's general election are wooing the city's voters with vows to tackle crime. In such company, Colonel Ubiratan had nothing to prove. One mourner felt it was “a pity” that he had not killed a thousand prisoners. “Then you wouldn't have the PCC,” she reasoned. Among the more unlikely passions the colonel inspired was love.